Turnip Diaries: An Exhortation

In his exhaustive treatise, herein referred to as The Turnip Diaries, contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm discussed the history, degustation and agricultural philosophy of growing the noble turnip. Here he revisits the theme.

Finished planting the winter crops this week, including turnips and mustards. Next we start planting the first of the summer crops, garlic, shallots and wheat for frikeh. And you expect us to get the correct change every time (at the Ayers Creek Farm stand at the Hillsdale Farmers' Market) when our minds are addled by having to straddle whole seasons.

Anyway, you might ask why we continue to plant turnips as none of you want to buy them, and sometimes recoil at the mere suggestion. We are waiting for some sharp researcher to illuminate the common link between the great centenarian cultures.

Yes, turnips.

Theories state that secret of longevity is fish in Japan, yoghurt in Georgia, garlic in Russia, and pomegranates in the Middle East. Jiminy cricket, can't they figure out that turnips are enjoyed and eaten with gusto in all of these long-lived cultures? Hope springs eternal, so we pray the turnips grow well and our perspicacity is rewarded as reason returns to your eating habits. You can even start your centenarian regime now because a diet rich in plums is the other common thread among those cultures. The plums may even generate a hankering for turnips as you feel the spring return to your step.

Read the other posts in the Turnip Diaries series: Part I: The Wapato Valley, Part II: Chestnuts, Persimmons and Turnips, Part III: Misery Loves Company, Part IV: We're In This Pickle Together, Part V: The Spicy Turnip, Part VI: The Turnip Also Rises, Part VII: WWPD (What Would Pliny Do).

Budget Cuts: Fit to Be Tied

There's something about seeing a large hunk of pork in a meat case for $3.99 a pound that calls to me, especially when it's a sustainably and humanely raised pork leg roast. While lots of folks love the loin, that cut tends to be very lean, lacking the fat that makes the roast moist and juicy. I also happen to think the leg has a lot more flavor, kind of like the difference between chicken breast and thigh meat.

In this roast, the removal of the leg bone leaves a nice slash through the leg that's perfect for filling with whatever stuffing ingredients you happen to have on hand. A stroll through Epicurious gave me the inspiration I needed to use some leftover prosciutto, a lemon, some breadcrumbs and garlic for a different twist on a more traditional stuffing.

Even better, in the process of rummaging through the vegetable bin I pulled out a couple of yams, a turnip and some kale from the farmers' market. Then it occurred to me that the yams and turnip would be perfect roasted with the pork, and the kale would make a hearty salad alongside.

A little over an hour or so later we were sitting down to what I have to say was a winner of a dinner on the cheap, one that I'd be proud to serve next time guests come over. Just promise that you won't tell anyone how cheap and easy it is, OK? It can be our little secret…

Pork Leg Roast with Lemon and Prosciutto Stuffing and Roasted Vegetables

For the pork leg:
1 4-lb. pork leg roast
4 slices prosciutto
1-2 lemons, sliced crosswise as thinly as possible
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced lengthwise
1/2 c. bread crumbs
1 tsp. salt and a few grindings of pepper, plus more for roasting
1 tsp. Spanish smoked pimenton (optional)

For the vegetables:
2 yams
1 large turnip
1/2 tsp. dried thyme
Olive oil
Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 400°.

Remove any twine or wrapping from the leg roast. Unroll on a cutting board with the fattier exterior on the bottom and the inside (where the bone used to be) facing up. If it's not quite flat, slice into the thicker parts so they open up like a book. (It's not important for it to be perfectly even or totally flat.) Lay the slices of prosciutto on top so they cover the surface, then lay the lemon slices in a single layer on top of that. Scatter the garlic slices over the top and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Starting at one end, roll tightly and tie with kitchen twine to secure (see photo, above). In my case, this usually requires Dave's help, since holding the roast and tying tend to be more than I can do without ending up with stuffing flying all over the kitchen. Your experience may vary. Sprinkle the roast with the pimenton, rubbing it into the outside and salt and pepper generously.

Peel yams and turnip and cut into 1/2" or so dice. Place in mixing bowl, add thyme, salt and pepper and drizzle with olive oil. Stir to coat thoroughly.

Place tied roast in a large roasting pan and surround it with the roasted vegetables. Place roasting pan in center of oven and roast until the internal temperature reaches 125-130° (approx. 45 min.-1 hour), then remove to cutting board, tent with aluminum foil and let it rest for 20 minutes. (Other recipes call for an internal temperature of 155°, but we find that the meat tends to be overcooked and dry at that temperature.)

Look for other recipes in the Budget Cuts series: Stuffed Pork Leg Roast with Kale and Pine Nuts;  Chile-Marinated Pork Shoulder; Grilled London Broil; Pork Tagine with Pistachios, Almonds, Pine Nuts and Golden Raisins.

Turnip Diaries, Part VII: WWPD (What Would Pliny Do)?

Gaius Plinius Secundus (Ad 23 - 79), or Pliny the Elder (never Old Guy) as he is known among the fields and vineyards of the Gaston agricultural district, wrote one of the first comprehensive guides to agriculture, Book 18 of his "Historia Naturalis." The book is full of good information from diverse sources. For example, in the section on purchasing a farm (vi. 26), Pliny cites Cato's advice that the most important considerations are water, roads and neighbors (aquam, viam, vicinum).

Pliny the Elder.

Solid advice two millennia later. His turnip sower's prayer "sibi et vicinis serere se," or "for me and my neighbors I sow" is a gentle, humble incantation. Agronomists today are taught to discount the power their own observations, relying instead on statistical theories to overcome "bias." You draw inferences from null hypotheses, never conclusions. Reading Pliny, you realize what a pity that is. All farmers, whether they have a deity on not, realize somedays a good prayer is needed, and good observations are far more useful than statistics with their nihilistic emphasis on the null.

Pliny ranks the turnip second after wheat in terms of its importance as a crop of his time. He notes that turnips were grown for human consumption and as livestock food. Some of the types grew as large as 40 pounds each. Norcia, famous for the quality of its swine, also commanded the highest price for its turnips. Pliny also remarks on the excellent flavor turnip shoots that have been blanched while stored in the dark. A bonus for those storing them as livestock feed.

The agriculturist Jethro Tull.

The next bloom of agricultural literature occurred in the 17th century. Robert Worlidge's "Systemae Agriculturae" published in 1669 and Jethro Tull's "Horse-hoeing Husbandry," John Evelyn's "Terra," are good examples. Similar writings were published in Germany, Holland and France, often translated with imperfect attribution. During this time, turnips played an increasingly important role in British agriculture as the "Norfolk rotation" took hold, probably abetted by Tull's seed drill. This four crop rotation started with wheat, followed by turnips, then barley and finally clover. Turnips are an excellent winter feed for livestock as they are high in vitamins and minerals. Two of the varieties we grew this year were the Norfolk red top and green top. Across Europe, turnips, chicory and beets served the dual purpose of human and livestock food. In the Norfolk rotation, you can also discern the ingredients of the northern latitude diet: a tankard of beer, bread, bangers and mash.

In the 20th century, ensilage made from maize displaced the use of roots as winter forage. Easier to harvest, investments in mechanization favored maize over the root crops. Ensilage, a lacto-fermented food for livestock, was developed in the late 19th century. Like packing a crock, filling the silo was an agrarian art. Today, it is a highly processed food with added sugar in the form of molasses to make it more palatable, urea to increase the nitrogen, gypsum and/or a slew of preservatives lest it go foul. It is the convenience food for dairies. As the cost of feed and fertilizers spiral upward, we expect the forage roots will see a resurgence.

We had a conversation with our neighbor about crops for their farm, and we mentioned forage roots as a possible crop. Cato would have appreciated Nellie McAdams. Nellie noted that her grandfather intercropped their young hazelnut orchards with turnips. Another member of the family raised cattle and dairy cows nearby, and that may have been the destination for the turnips. Feed is a huge obstacle to success for small organic livestock producers. Forage roots are a way for them to shake off dependence on corn and soybean-based feeds.

Fortunately, good advice lies in older references, such as "Our Farm Crops" by John Wilson, published in 1859, also celebrating its sesquicentennial. Written by a farmer and over 900 pages in length, it is a good map to Michael Pollan's call for re-solarizing the farm. Long live the earthy roots, and the sun.

Exeunt Turnips.

Read the other posts in the Turnip Diaries series: Part I: The Wapato Valley, Part II: Chestnuts, Persimmons and Turnips, Part III: Misery Loves Company, Part IV: We're In This Pickle Together, Part V: The Spicy Turnip and Part VI: The Turnip Also Rises. 

Turnip Diaries, Part VI: The Turnip Also Rises

Contributor Anthony Boutard of Ayers Creek Farm takes a literary turn in his next-to-last (or so he says) installment of the turnip chronicles.

The turnip was once the middleweight culinary champion of the kitchen. Do not think that most were very much impressed by that title, but it meant a lot to turnip growers. They cared not for cooking, in fact they disliked it, but they learned painfully and thoroughly to counteract the feeling of inferiority and shyness they had felt as those who toil in the fields and orchards. There was a certain inner comfort in knowing they could knock down as good a dish as anyone, although, being very shy and thoroughly nice farmers, their talents stayed in the fields. Their star dish was the soufflé. They were taught by their elders to treat the neep as a featherweight, whether the root weighed an ounce or a pound.

Papa's Turnip Soufflé
From Fannie Farmer, 11th Edition

3 Tbsp. butter
1 tsp. onion or shallot, chopped
3 Tbsp. flour
1 c. milk or cream
1 c. turnip or rutabaga, mashed or riced
3 egg yolks, well beaten
3 egg whites

Melt butter in a saucepan. Add onion and cook slowly until the onion is yellow. Add flour and blend well, stirring until it loses its raw flavor. Add milk, stirring until sauce thickens. Stir in turnip mash and eggs. Cook over low heat for 1 minute. Season to taste, adding more onion if needed. Cool at least 10 minutes.

In non-reactive bowl, beat egg whites until stiff. Fold gently into the vegetable mixture. Spoon carefully into a baking dish. Do not butter the dish unless the soufflé is to be turned out onto a serving dish. Bake at 350 degrees until firm, about 30 minutes.

Note: This simple recipe can be used for any vegetable, but it is particularly delicious with turnips and rutabagas. Excellent as a side dish to tongue.


Read the other posts in the Turnip Diaries series: Part I: The Wapato Valley, Part II: Chestnuts, Persimmons and Turnips, Part III: Misery Loves Company, Part IV: We're In This Pickle Together, Part V: The Spicy Turnip, Part VII: WWPD (What Would Pliny Do).

Turnip Diaries, Part V: The Spicy Turnip

Anthony Boutard, author of GSNW's Farm Bulletins, has developed a great friendship with Rahul Vora, a customer who has supplied him with recipes using fenugreek and for the traditional Indian dish known as Saag. Rahul just returned from an extended visit to India, and shares his recipes for his mother's turnip pickles.

Pickles, along with relishes and chutneys, are an important part of Indian cuisine. According to Rahul, every house has its own set of favorite pickles. There are regional variations, and virtually every fruit and vegetable is pickled. Pickling is an ancient art in India, and perhaps originated there. The great Russian botanist, Nicolai Valvilov, theorized that the place where a crop is most diverse is its center of origin. Under that principle, northern India is certainly the center of origin for pickles. The pickles range from very simple, quickly prepared recipes, to complex and densely spicy creations handed down through the generations. Even the noble turnip finds itself in a spicy pickle. Here are two variants.

The first is from Rahul's mother and uses lime juice. We made it using three aci sivri peppers for every half pound of turnips. The combination of lime juice and the ground peppers yields a mouthwatering fragrance, and the turnip offers a pleasant crunch.

Gujarati-Style "Fresh" Turnip Pickle

Cut turnips in half-inch dice. Mix with a little red chili powder (cayenne, paprika, or any other type) and salt (preferrably sea or kosher salt). Add lime juice and mix. Let it sit for one hour, mixing occasionally. It is ready to eat. This is good with dal and rice. Refrigerate. This pickle should be eaten within a week or so.

Murabba-Style Pickle
From IndianFoodRecipes.net

This style of pickle is typically, sweet, and dense with spices and pungent mustard oil. This style of pickle is also found in the Republic of Georgia. The mostardas of northern Italy also combine fruit and mustard oil, using grape must as the sweetening. Perhaps it is an Indian inflection picked up from trade with the east. The FDA has some reservations regarding mustard oil, so it is sold in Indian groceries and labeled "for external use only." We prepared the following turnip pickle this week, with the mustard oil carefully applied to exterior of the turnip per the label.

1 lb. turnips, peeled and cut in 1/4" thick chunks
1/3 c. salt
1 c. mustard oil
15 cloves garlic
1 tsp. cumin seeds
1 tsp. onion seeds (nigella)
1 tsp. black pepper
2 tsp. red pepper powder
3/4 c. sugar
15 dates, chopped
1/4 c. raisins
1 c. rice wine vinegar

Place chunked turnips in large mixing bowl. Sprinkle with salt and leave overnight. The next day, drain. Heat the mustard oil in a large frying pan and lightly brown the garlic, then add the turnip and cook for a short time to dry the chunks. Grind cumin seeds, onion seeds and black pepper, then put in smaller mixing bowl and combine with red pepper powder and sugar. In another bowl, combine dates and raisins and mix with rice wine vinegar. Then combine the turnips, spice mix and fruit, put in a jar and let it rest for a week.

Read the other posts in the Turnip Diaries series: Part I: The Wapato Valley, Part II: Chestnuts, Persimmons and Turnips, Part III: Misery Loves Company, Part IV: We're In This Pickle Together, Part V: The Spicy Turnip, Part VI: The Turnip Also Rises, Part VII: WWPD (What Would Pliny Do).  
 
Photo by Anthony Boutard.

Turnip Diaries, Part IV: We're in This Pickle Together

I'm a pickle fiend myself, a lover of salty and sour, so Anthony Boutard's entry in his continuing series has me contemplating making some pickles of my own. (A chip off the old block, my son has even taken to sprinkling a bit of fish sauce on his kosher dills.)

The world is divided into lovers of pickles and those who simply can't understand why anyone would curl their lip around a soured vegetable. For pickle lovers, here are a couple variants of the art as applied to the turnip.

The middle eastern mezza includes pink pickled turnips. They are simple to make. Cut up some turnips and a beet, and pack into a jar. Sprinkle in some salt, a teaspoon or so. Heat up a cup of water and add a cup of vinegar. We use white wine vinegar. The recommended dilution varies, but most recipes suggest a equal proportions. Pour the hot diluted vinegar into the jar. You want the turnips covered by the liquid. Use a non-metallic lid or plastic wrap to cover the jar. We leave them on the counter for a few days to hasten the cure, and then refrigerate. They will last several weeks. The variations you adopt will establish the character of the pickles. You can use beet juice instead of the water. Some people add garlic or hot pepper. A bit of celery green or root is welcome by some. And you can also pickle rutabagas.

Turnips are lacto-fermented just like cabbage. Sauerruben is made in the same way as sauerkraut. Slice, julienne or grate the turnips, salt and then pack into a crock with a weighted top. The proportion is 3 tablespoons of salt per five pounds of turnip. Use only fresh, young turnips. If you do a lot of fermentation, the Harsch fermentation crocks available at Mirador Community Store (2106 SE Division) make life a whole lot easier. They are fitted with weights to keep the vegetables submerged and a bell cover that is sealed with water. Elegant design. The ten-liter size is probably the most practical.

Read the other posts in the Turnip Diaries series: Part I: The Wapato Valley, Part II: Chestnuts, Persimmons and Turnips, Part III: Misery Loves Company, Part V: The Spicy Turnip, Part VI: The Turnip Also Rises, Part VII: WWPD (What Would Pliny Do). 

Top photo from Her Able Hands.

Turnip Diaries, Part III: Misery Loves Company

In Part One, Anthony described the close relationship he and Carol developed with their turnips over many dinners last season due to the fact that they only sold two out of the 50 pounds of turnips they harvested from their farm in Gaston. Part Two chronicled the greater success they're having this season in sharing their love of this under-appreciated root.

As we packed up the stall at the end of the last market, we took a moment to chat with Able of Creative Growers. They had a beautiful display of Hakurei type turnips (left), the legendary Japanese salad turnips. By midday, realizing he would be returning home with a good portion of the display, Able told us he started adding a turnip to every bag, hoping customers would try them and return eagerly for the sweet roots at the next market. Several years ago, we used the same strategy when no one would buy our green beans. Such faith in his quality should work.

Last month, Texas pastor Ed Young issued a fatwa of sorts urging his congregation to engage in conjugal relations for seven days, presumably straight, in order to restore family values. Apparently the congregation was having some problems on that score and needed some straightening out, at least in his opinion, the poor dears.

The challenge got us thinking about turnips, rutabagas and upping the ante. Why not a fortnight of turnips and rutabagas on the dinner menu? We need to have a national conversation about these delicious, nutritious and neglected roots, and this challenge should prompt you all to start talking about them nightly. Don't fret if the turnips are all gone by the time you arrive on Sunday [at the Hillsdale Farmers' Market - KAB], we are not so dogmatic as Pastor Young; you can spread the fortnight of feasting over a month or two. Turnips are even a sweet morsel for the Lenten fast.

The Swedes, or rutabagas (right), we grew this year may not be familiar to most. Most Swedes are big, have orangish skin and flesh with a purple neck, especially when they return from the holidays. The Wilhelmsburger and Gilfeather rutabagas have white skin and flesh, with purplish-greenish shoulders. The name Gilfeather when attached to the turnip is copyrighted, so we will stay away from that name. Besides, the plant is a definitely a Swede, not a turnip.

The Wilhelmsburger has slight yellow tinge. Unlike turnips, the rutabagas have distinctly tapered, hairy roots that come to a point. Botanists describe this sort of shape as turbinate, or fusiform, if tapered at both ends. You will note that the turnips typically have a much smoother, rounded root. There is no need to peel them, just shave hairy parts off the bottom and you have a presentable Swede.

The rutabaga is called a "stable hybrid" between the cabbage and turnip. Although rutabagas are used for livestock food, the "stable" refers to fact that the hybrid now breeds true from seed. References to the vegetable appeared in the 17th century, whereas the turnip proper was probably familiar to the artists of Altamira and Lascaux. The German name is kohl-rube, and the French is choux navet, meaning in both languages "cabbage-turnip." Some sources say the plant originated in northern Scandinavia, hence the name Swedish Turnip, or Swede. Other references point to Bohemia. It is entirely probable that the cabbage-turnip cross occurred more than once, and the white-fleshed varieties may be from Bohemia.

Read the other posts in the Turnip Diaries series: Part I: The Wapato Valley, Part II: Chestnuts, Persimmons and Turnips, Part IV: We're In This Pickle Together, Part V: The Spicy Turnip, Part VI: The Turnip Also Rises, Part VII: WWPD (What Would Pliny Do). 

Farm Bulletin: Chestnuts, Persimmons and Turnips, Oh My!

Pursuant to the notice below about the holiday farmers' markets this weekend, and despite my smarty-pants teasing about the habits of those on the west side of the river, correspondent Anthony Boutard muses on some history and preparations for these winter comestibles.

Chestnuts: Bouche de Betizac

When the chestnut blight struck Europe, the French fought back with several hybrids between the European (Castanea sativa) and Japanese (C. crenata) species of chestnut. These hybrids had good resistance to the strain of blight that attacked the European trees, and the nuts were larger than the pure C. sativa trees. Betizac is one of the earliest of those hybrids, and probably the best, especially in terms of flavor. The original Betizac scionwood, and other varieties of the chestnut, was brought to OSU in the 1980s by Bob Rackham, an OSU extension agent who took an interest in chestnuts. Scionwood is a branch from this year's growth which can be grafted onto suitable rootstock.

With the help of Christopher Foster [of Cascadia Chestnuts], we managed to collect some scionwood from those trees before the planting was pulled out. Although he might demur at the suggestion, Christopher is one the nation's leading authorities on the chestnut, and he has been very generous with his time and ideas.

Chestnuts must be scored before cooking. We have all manner of tools for the job. The cheapest, easiest and safest, in our experience, is a hooked linoleum blade that fits in a box knife. Unless you are predisposed to making crosses for some religious reason, a single slice will do. We recommend roasting the chestnuts in a good size batch, and then freezing them. An open fire confers a nice smokiness to the fruits. Immediately after roasting, wrap the unpeeled nuts in a few dish towels and let the fruits stew a bit. This makes it easier to remove the inner peel. Peel them while they are hot, or the job will be difficult.

We have cured the fruits so they are ready to use this week. They do not store well. Chestnuts are essentially a sweet acorn, and very different from other fruits we call "nuts" in that they are high in carbohydrates and low in fats. Leave them on the counter for a couple of weeks, they will be hard as rocks and about as appealing. Chestnuts are in the oak family, subfamily Diosbalanos, meaning noble acorn. The genus name Castanea is derived from Kastanea, an ancient city in Asia Minor where they were thought to have originated. In Ancient Greece, the response to a beggar was, "Go shake acorns from a tree."

Turnips: Turnip Diary II

Unlike last year, the turnips sold fairly well at the last market. We returned with a mere 10 pounds. This week, we will have mostly Jersey Navet and Early White. We also pulled a few Wilhelmsburger and Gilfeather Rutabagas and some Norfolk Green Turnips.

The simplest way to enjoy fresh turnips is to grate or julienne the root, and dress them as a salad. The skin is tender enough that peeling is unnecessary. Trim the top and bottom, and check for wireworm damage. We try to catch the worst problems, but sometimes the worm moves on, and the root heals over the wound.

Dress the grated root with mirin and sesame oil. A premium Japanese sesame oil has a more delicate flavor than the heavily roasted types used for cooking. Virgin sesame oil has the most delicate flavor. There are many brands of mirin available and some are sweeter than others. The Mitoku brand has both sesame oil and organic mirin which are well suited for salads.

Turnips and rutabagas are also delicious when sautéed gently in a some butter, salt pork or pancetta. For those poorly disposed toward animal fats, olive or coconut oil work fine. We generally dice them into 1/2 inch cubes. The roots are sweet enough that they will caramelize slightly. Great with squash.

Persimmons

These are the small persimmons native to eastern United States, Diospyros virginiana. They are distinctly astringent with a clove-like spiciness. The genus name, Diospyros, means "noble pear." The trees are in the ebony family, and the heartwood wood is very dense and strong. It was most commonly used in golf clubs, shoe lasts, pool cues and loom shuttles.

When Carol's late mother, Carol Black, hosted a party, she would have a local school teacher, Thelma Johnson, assist her in the food preparations. Persimmon pudding is a classic Eastern Shore of Maryland dessert. It works with with Japanese persimmons, though the native persimmons provide more depth.

Thelma Johnson's Persimmon Pudding
2 c. pulp (persimmons must be mushy)
2 c. sugar
1 1/2 c. buttermilk
1 tsp. baking soda
3 eggs, beaten
1/2 c. evaporated milk or half and half cream
1 1/2 c. flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/8 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1 tsp. vanilla
1/4 lb. butter (1 stick)
Whipped cream for top.

Pre-heat oven to 325 degrees F. Mix pulp and sugar. Add soda to buttermilk till it quits foaming. Add mix to pulp with eggs and cream. Sift flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon and stir into pulp mix. Add vanilla. Melt butter in 14" by 10" baking dish. Swish around sides and bottom and add excess to batter. Pour into baking dish and bake for 45 minutes. Cool in dish and serve as squares topped with whipped cream. Approx. 12 servings.

Read the other posts in the Turnip Diaries series: Part I: The Wapato Valley, Part II: Chestnuts, Persimmons and Turnips, Part III: Misery Loves Company, Part IV: We're In This Pickle Together, Part V: The Spicy Turnip, Part VI: The Turnip Also Rises, Part VII: WWPD (What Would Pliny Do). 

Turnip Diaries, Pt. I: The Wapato Valley

Not too far from the bustle of urban life but seemingly a world away from our citified concerns lies the little town of Gaston and, near it, Ayers Creek Farm. Anthony Boutard's reports give us a taste of what's happening just over the hill.

The beautiful autumn weather was good for harvesting the beans and corn, but slowed the winter vegetables substantially. Frosty nights stop the foliar growth, and it takes some time for the plants to warm up and growth to resume, especially when the cold morning fog lingers into the noon hour. Far from the moderating effects of the big rivers, tons of heat-retaining concrete and hundred of thousands of engine blocks shedding heat from their daily workout, our temperatures can drop about 10 to 15 degrees colder at night than those in Portland. Clear skies at night hasten radiational cooling. The Wapato Valley is also in a colder micro-climate, so we plant about two weeks later than in the Tualatin Valley north of us or the Willamette Valley to the south, even though we are at the same elevation, about 195 feet above sea level.

The last two weeks, drenched with warm rain, the plants have been growing day and night, and the difference is visible in the field. That said, we don't expect to have the chicories, endives and escaroles until the Christmas market, or early January. Consider it the toll exacted for such a lovely October.

As for turnips, last year, we pulled about 50 pounds of them for the Christmas market. Exquisite as they were, golden, purple topped and white, we only sold 2 pounds. Oddly enough, turnips and the holidays were a bad mix. For the next month we had turnips at virtually every meal. Roasted, mashed, pickled, brined and stewed. And, of course, turnip souffle. Over that month, we developed a deep appreciation for the turnip. They are back, and the earliest are ready.

The "White Milan" turnip is round and similar to the familiar purple top turnip. The "Jersey Navet" is a distinctly pear-shaped turnip. It is a very old type, and it is great to open Vilmorin's "The Vegetable Garden" and see the same root illustrated. Produces a good head of greens, as well. Finally there are the "Early White" (Navet Blanc Plat Hântif). The root is very flat and grows above the ground. Vilmorin describes it as "pretty."

We plant the turnips and rutabagas relatively late so as to avoid the flea beetles that mow down the emerging seedlings. The supply will improve as the season progresses and this warm, wet weather will help move things along a bit faster. Radishes, rutabagas and turnips are well adapted to the Pacific Northwest winter.

Read the other posts in the Turnip Diaries series: Part II: Chestnuts, Persimmons and Turnips, Part III: Misery Loves Company, Part IV: We're In This Pickle Together, Part V: The Spicy Turnip, Part VI: The Turnip Also Rises, Part VII: WWPD (What Would Pliny Do).